The Poltergeist of the Opera
by RaeLaser1
Summary: A Phantom of the OperaBeetlejuice xover! Lydia as Christine, BJ as the Poltergeist! Added my own little fangirl twist, of course. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

All right people. I own none of this. Nada. Not a thing. AND YES! I HAVE CHANGED HUGE CHUNKS OF "THE OPERA"! JUST TO TAILOR FIT IT ALL INTO MY STORY, LIKE NAMES AND SUCH!!! SO SUE ME!!!

I am also the wrong person to be writing this, as I have never even SEEN the movie The Phantom of the Opera. Yeah, don't get too mad, I would have to make changes anyways, these two stories' compatibility only extends so far . . . Anyways, hope you enjoy, and if you don't, don't flame too hard!

**The Poltergeist of the Opera**

Chapter 1

_At the opera house . . ._

A figure was working busily in the gloom, emptying out his pockets. Finally, he found what he was looking for. His beautiful, antique violin. It hearkened back from over six hundred years ago. Back to when he was alive . . .

The opera house was the place for him right now. He would haunt them, play his violin music in dead silence, scare them all, and pull pranks on stage. It would be fun, and he would also be exposing his talent to the world. He remembered one face in the crowd, one that struck him as something special. He slowly pulled out a mask, and stuck it on his face, remembering his deathly pallor, unattractive teeth, and the death circles around his eyes. She wouldn't have to see that, not at first. Not until she'd be able to understand.

He grinned and shrieked like a maniac, and then disappeared.

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The large Opera House was a bustle of activity. The stage was being set, the choreography was being tested, and several people were practicing their vocals. One girl, however, stood out.

Lydia was a beautiful young girl, black hair, pale skin, dark clothing, and an interest in the bizarre. She was a dancer in the Opera House, but she wanted more. She wanted a lead role, she wanted to be appreciated. Thinking this, she lost her concentration, and stepped out of the choreography.

The choreographer, Miss Shannon, noticed, and cried out, "You! Lydia! Concentrate, girl!" Lydia obediently stepped back into place, dancing again. She noticed two strange men standing almost directly in her way, and it took a lot of complicated maneuvering to avoid slamming into one of them. She heard them speaking with the director about her.

"Lydia? Curious name," one of them said.

"Swedish." The director answered.

"Any relation to the violinist?"

"Her daughter, I believe. Always has her head in the clouds, I'm afraid," he sighed.

Lydia frowned and concentrated harder. She wasn't sure she liked these two, and was wondering what on earth they were doing here. Just then, the ballet ended. She finished gracefully, swooped a curtsy for good measure, and then resumed listening.

The chorus began singing, and eavesdropping became impossible  
Bid welcome to Hannibal's guests -  
the elephants of Carthage!  
As guides on our conquering quests,  
Dido sends  
Hannibal's friends!

A giant elephant was rolled onstage. Claire, the lead singer began a duet, singing with Bobby Piangi. As the notes rose and fell, Lydia did her best to not feel jealous. Feeling jealous of Claire was . . . well, degrading. But if only she did not have the lead part. If only it belonged to herself.

Just then, the director strode forward and cleared his throat. "Ladies and gentlemen – Miss Shannon, thank you - may I have your attention, please? As you know, for some weeks there have been rumors of my imminent retirement. I can now tell you that these were all true and it is my pleasure to introduce to you the two gentlemen who now own the Opera Populaire, M. Richard Firmin and M. Gilles Andre."

Lydia curtsied elegantly. Naturally, however, Claire elbowed her way to the front, 'accidentally' jabbing Lydia in the side.

A wild, white blonde head, almost hidden in the shadows of the rafters, saw this all. Eyes turned from yellow-green, to red, and glowed slightly. Several choirgirls could have sworn they heard faint, demented laughter, but dismissed it as their imagination.

"Gentlemen, our leading soprano for five seasons now." The Director said.  
"Of course, of course. I have experienced all your greatest roles, my dear." Andre said. "If I remember rightly, you have a rather fine aria in Act Three of "Hannibal". I wonder, Miss, if, as a personal favor, you would oblige us with a private rendition. Unless, of course, you have any objections . . ."

"Of course not!" Claire cried gleefully. She ran out to the middle of the stage, cleared her throat, looked around haughtily, and launched into her piece.

Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said goodbye.  
Remember me once in a while - please promise me you'll try.  
When you find that, once again, you long to take your heart . . . 

Lydia, watching resentfully, saw something stir above Claire. Before she could even blink, a backdrop crashes to the floor cutting Claire off from half the cast. Lydia stumbled back, feeling faint. The choir girls start screaming, "The Poltergeist! The Poltergeist! He has returned! We are all doomed!"

"Claire! Claire! Are you hurt?" Piangi screamed

"Signora! Are you all right? Joseph!" the director howled. "Where is Joseph?"

"Is no one concerned for our Prima Donna?" Piangi yelled back.

"Please monsieur don't look at me: as God's my witness, I was not at my post. Please monsieur there's no one there: and if there is, well then, it must be a ghost . . ." Joseph said, poking his head over the rafters and shrugging helplessly.

Again, that demented laughter, so faint as to be barely heard.

Andre held Claire's elbow as he helped her up. "Please, Miss, these things happen."

"Oh really!" she cried. "These things, like happen, do they? Well, all I've got to say, is that you better _make_ these things stop happening, or this whole production will 'stop happening!'"

Piangi rushed over to her with her furs. She snatched them and walked out stiffly. "Amateurs," he hissed, stalking out.

The director grabbed his hat. "Well, I don't think you people need me anymore!" he said merrily. He opened the door and went the opposite way Claire had gone.

"Claire will come back," Andre said doubtfully.

"You really think so?" Miss Shannon asked. Well, I have a message for you from the Opera Ghost."

"Good Lord, you people are obsessed with this thing!" Firmin exploded.

"He merely welcomes you to his opera house and commands you to continue to leave Box Five empty for his use and reminds you that his salary is due." Miss Shannon said innocently.

"Salary?" Firmin inquired in a quiet, dangerous voice. "Does this monster have a job around here? Is he, say, the janitor?"

"Mr. Lefevre paid him twenty thousand francs a month. Perhaps you can afford more, with Mr. Chagny as your patron." Miss Shannon continued, oblivious. "He will be attending the performance tonight."

Andre sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "Where is the understudy?"

"There is none."

"Lydia could sing it, Mr. Andre!" Bertha piped up. "She's been taking lessons, from a great teacher!" Lydia's eyes grew as wide as saucers. Could it really be? Did she really even have the right?

"Who have you been taking your lessons from, girl?" Andre demanded.

"I'm not sure," Lydia admitted, a brilliant blush coloring her face.

"Oh Lord, not you too! Can you believe it Firmin? A full house - and we have to cancel!

"Let her sing for you, monsieur. She has been well taught." Miss Shannon coaxed.

"From the beginning of the aria then, miss," Andre said grudgingly.

Lydia twisted her hands together, and then opened her mouth and sang as well, as pure as clearly as she possibly could

Think of me think of me fondly,  
when we've said goodbye.  
Remember me once in a while -  
please promise me you'll try. 

"Andre, this is doing nothing for my nerves." Firmin hissed "

Don't fret, Firmin." When you find that, once again, you long  
to take your heart back and be free -  
if you ever find a moment,  
spare a thought for me . . .

On opening night, Lydia stood in front of the audience, singing her soul out.

We never said our love was evergreen,  
or as unchanging as the sea -  
but if you can still remember  
stop and think of me . . .  
Think of all the things we've shared and seen -  
don't think about the things which might have been . . .  
Think of me, think of me waking, silent and resigned.  
Imagine me, trying too hard to put you from my mind.  
Recall those days look back on all those times,  
think of the things we'll never do -  
there will never be a day, when I won't think of you . . .

The young man, Raoul, looked hard at the singing vision on stage. "Can it be Lydia? Bravo! What a change! You're really not a bit the gawky girl that once you were... Boy, I sure remember her now! She sure has filled out.

_Is it really Raoul? My childhood friend? Will he even remember me?_ Lydia wondered as she sang . . .


	2. Chapter 2

All right people. I own none of this. Nada. Not a thing. AND YES! I HAVE CHANGED HUGE CHUNKS OF "THE OPERA"! JUST TO TAILOR FIT IT ALL INTO MY STORY, LIKE NAMES AND SUCH!!! SO SUE ME!!!

I am also the wrong person to be writing this, as I have never even SEEN the movie The Phantom of the Opera. Yeah, don't get too mad, I would have to make changes anyways, these two stories' compatibility only extends so far . . . Anyways, hope you enjoy, and if you don't, don't flame too hard!

**The Poltergeist of the Opera**

Chapter 2

"A tour de force! No other way to describe it!" Andre cried jubilantly.

"What a relief ! Not a single refund!" Firmin said happily. "Andre, I think we've made quite a discovery in Miss Lydia!" he continued thoughtfully.

"Here we are, Mr. Raoul. Lydia's dressing room." Andre said.

"Gentlemen if you wouldn't mind. This is one visit I should prefer to make unaccompanied." Raoul said, winking. He took Firmin's champagne out of his hand.

"As you wish," Firmin said stiffly. Aside, to Andre, he said quietly, "They appear to have met before . . ."

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"Lydia Deetz, where is your scarf?" Raoul said mischievously.

"Excuse me sir?" Lydia asked warily.

"You can't have lost it. After all the trouble I took. I was just fourteen and soaked to the skin . . ." Raoul said softly

"Because you had run into the sea to fetch my scarf." Lydia finished. "Oh, Raoul. So it is you!

"Lydia!" he said happily, grinning like mad.

They embraced and laughed. She moved away and sat at her dressing table.

"Little Lotte let her mind wander . . ."

"You remember that, too . . ."

". . . Little Lotte thought: Am I fonder of dolls or of goblins,

of shoes or of riddles, or frocks.

Those picnics in the attic or of chocolates   
Mother playing the violin, as we read to each other dark stories of the North . . . "  
"No what I love best, Lotte said,  
is when I'm asleep in my bed,  
and the Angel of Music sings songs in my head!" 

"Mother said, "When I'm in heaven, child, I will send the Angel of Music to you". Well, mother is gone, Raoul, and I have been visited by the Angel of Music." Lydia said seriously. She wanted to reconnect with her friend, and this was a matter of great importance to her.

"No, Raoul, the Angel of Music is very strict." Lydia gasped, feeling self-conscious.

"I shan't keep you up late!" he said cheerfully. "You must change. I must get my hat. Two minutes Little  
Lotte."

Lydia's protests were ignored as he hurried out. "Raoul!" But he was gone. "Things have changed, Raoul," she whispered.

She heard the 'angels' voice, which seemed to come from behind her dresser.

"Idiot boy! Fruity, fashionable yuppie boy, sitting there in your glory and soaking it in without realizing what its worth! Stupid little spineless drip! This _brave young_ suitor, sharing in MY triumph!"

"Angel! I hear you! Speak to me, don't go, I'm listening . . . stay by my side, guide me! My soul was weak – I'm sorry . . . enter at last, Master!"

"You're flattering me; you know I love it! You shall now see me, see why I hide in the shadows! Look at your mirror – That's me in there, the guy that isn't your reflection."

"Angel of Music! Guide and guardian! Oh, my mother _must_ have sent you! Grant to me your glory! Please don't hide any more, I can't stand it! Come to me, strange angel..."

I _am_ your Angel ..."

The mirror started shimmering and rippling. Lydia walked towards the glowing, shimmering glass. Meanwhile, Raoul returned. He heard the voices and is puzzled. He tried the door, but it was locked)

"Whose is that voice, who is that in there?" Raoul asked out loud.

Inside the room the mirror settled on reflecting a scene very different than Lydia's dressing room. Behind it, in an inferno of white light, stood the Poltergeist, wearing a mask that covered his entire face. He reached forward and took Lydia firmly, but not fiercely, by the wrist. His touch is cold, and Lydia gasps, her black hair tumbling down to her waist. He pulled her into the mirror.

At that exact moment, the dressing room suddenly unlocks and swings open, and Raoul entered to find the room empty.

"Lydia! Angel!" he cried desolately.


	3. Chapter 3

All right people, if you don't review, I don't give you review brownies. And the review brownies are good. Calorie free and all.

I did not research this part of the movie. I went with what I wanted. So DON'T WRITE AND TELL ME WHAT I GOT WRONG!!!!!!!!!! I probably got ALL of it wrong!

I own nothing. Nothing except the concept of mixing these two stories. I don't own the actual stories though. So stop suing me!

**The Poltergeist of the Opera**

Chapter 3

Lydia stood up straight and looked around for a moment, taking in the weird splendor. Her eyes crossed, and she whispered, "Deadly vu."

She was in a giant, underground cavern, at the edge of a giant, underground lake. The water seemed to cast up a greenish glow, and the walls were just barely visible by its weak light. The place was dark, and damp. Lydia nearly brushed into a large spider web. She paused, and gazed at it thoughtfully. Sensing her stop, the poltergeist at her elbow turned.

"You coming or not babes?" he demanded.

"I'm coming," she said hurriedly.

He helped her into a boat at the edge of the lake, and then pushed off from the shore. Lydia's eyes crossed once again when she realized the boat seemed to be moving through the water on its own power.

The poltergeist laughed lazily at her astonishment. "I can't give away all my secrets, babes," he said, grinning underneath his sturdy mask. Not that she would know. He dearly wished for the day when he could trust her enough to take the damned thing off. But most chicks weren't exactly attracted to the whole, 'I've been dead for six hundred years and am so much the worse for the wear' kind of look.

Then he watched her, gazing all around with wide-open eyes, and an eager look, dangling her hand in the black water.

He grinned to himself. Maybe it would be sooner than he thought.

"We're here!" he bellowed suddenly. The boat scraped up on land. He elegantly bowed, and helped Lydia out of the boat. He strode forward, his fingers tingling. He wanted – no _needed_ to have his violin right now. So many confusing feelings were coursing through him, that he needed some release.

He gently picked it up, delicately scraped the strings, and launched off into a song that would break your heart to hear it. He poured all his frustration, all his happiness, all his fear, and all his sorrow into it. He played out his fear that she would reject him, the fear that maybe she _wouldn't_ reject him, and then what?

Lydia sat, entranced. The music washed over her, carrying her away. She forgot self, she forgot that she was cold and hungry, and that the spot she was sitting on was wet, and was soaking into her bottom. Surely here was the Angel of Music. Surely this was the angel God himself had appointed to be in charge of all music. _Surely_ . . .

The poltergeist put the violin down. He remembered _what_ he was to do now, should she not reject him.

"Come on, I've gotta show you my lair!" he said boyishly, catching her by the wrist and pulling her forward. Lydia remembered the big wet patch on her skirt and blushed, but allowed herself to be led forward.

She was led through a long system of tunnels, lit dimly with hundreds of candles. It was dark and damp. Lydia knew she should be repulsed, but she wasn't. She felt a strange fascination. She had never been somewhere like this before, and truth to tell, she was loving every minute of it. The spiders, the cobwebs, and the slime decorating the walls . . . She loved it all.

Then they stopped. Lydia peered around her 'angel', and saw something red in the middle of the room. She slowly walked forward. It was a dress, of the most blinding shade of red she had ever seen. Wearing it was a life size manikin. She tore her eyes away from the gaudy dress, and realized that it was an almost perfect facsimile of herself.

"What is this?" she inquired, feeling very unnerved.

"It's for you!" he shrieked, laughing insanely. Lydia shrank away.

"What for? What is it? And why does it glow in the dark?" she asked.

"It's your wedding dress!" he said, sounding a little peeved. Lydia stared at him a moment, uncomprehendingly. Then realization clicked into place. She crumpled to the floor.

The poltergeist looked at her a moment in bewilderment, then tenderly scooped her off the floor, and carried her over to his bed. It was a dramatic four-poster bed, with velvet drapes surrounding it. He slid her under the covers. He looked long and hard at his intended bride, and then smiled, slid off his mask, and gently kissed her on the forehead.

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Lydia slowly woke up. Her sight was not clear yet, and she lay there quietly.

"I remember," she started slowly. "Hundreds of candles. Fog and mist, darkness, a little boat, and a man standing beside me."

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, and started walking towards the faint strains of violin music. "I remember I could not see his face. Where is he? I must see his face . . ."

Lydia found the poltergeist, intensely absorbed in his violin. She crept up behind him, and almost had his mask off, when he whirled around, nearly catching her wrist. She retreated, but then dove forward, fueled by burning curiosity. She had the mask in her hands, and she ripped it off.

He let out a frightening roar, and caught her hard by the arms. He shook her violently, and then dropped her to the ground. In the process, she caught a good look at his face. She screamed in horror, and covered her face. Purple skin, green teeth, yellow eyes, black pits surrounding each eye.

"Damn you" he bellowed at her. "Is this what you wanted? Is this what you wanted to see? Did you perhaps think that I was just covering my face as a sort of game? ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?!!"

Lydia was crying too bitterly to answer. Her hopes and dreams lay shattered at her feet Her angel was really a monster, and she was never going to get out of here. He was going to force her to marry him, and she would have to stay here till she rotted.

Eventually, the poltergeist turned around, and looked at the weeping girl before him. A strange emotion fluttered in his gut. What was this? Guilt? Surely not! He never felt guilt, never regretted any of his actions, ever! And yet . . .

"I'm sorry," burst out of him before he could stop it. And then more words, the sort that he would never say, under pain of torture, spilled out from his lips of his own free will.

"I'm sorry that I'm not the handsomest, or most alive-looking guy you've ever seen. Isn't easy bein' a dead guy in the land of the living, you know what I mean? Look, if I could change how I look for ya, I'd've already've done it. S'why I wore the mask. But really, I'm not that bad of a guy! The dead look isn't so bad once ya get used to it. An' I could, I dunno, maybe, for you only, babes, I might . . . wash?"

He shuddered mightily.

Lydia sniffled and looked up at him. This time, she looked past the filth, the grime, the appalling teeth, and saw the man. She saw that he really did seem sincere. And she realized she was being as shallow as Claire, by judging him by his appearance.

She realized that for him, offering to wash was a huge sacrifice that he was willing to make, just for her. It made her feel special, in an odd creepy way. She realized that he held the same macabre appeal as his surroundings.

He held out his hand for the mask. Lydia slowly handed it to him, a million new thoughts crowding her mind.

"Come on, I gotta be getting you back. Those two idiots that are running my opera will be wondering where you are."

Please leave a contribution in the little box!


	4. Chapter 4

All right people, if you don't review, I don't give you review brownies. And the review brownies are good. Calorie free and all.

I kept a lot – and I do mean a lot – of the original dialogue here. So much of this is unoriginal. I really don't like changing any part except the parts with Beej and Lydia interacting with each other, or other people interacting with them. The only reason this is even in here is because it's integral to the plot.

However, I did try to put my own take on this. I also made it so none of them were singing. People just don't randomly break into song on a daily basis, nor do they integrate it into their daily conversations. So there!

I own nothing. Nothing except the concept of mixing these two stories. I don't own the actual stories though. So stop suing me!

**The Poltergeist of the Opera**

Chapter 4

Firmin read the newspapers, vastly unamused.

"Mystery after Gala night. Mystery of Soprano's flight!" he read scornfully. "Good Lord, where do they come up with this trash? Well, publicity is publicity, and I don't really care what happens, so long as the seats sell, and nobody asks for refunds. Of course half the cast is missing! And of course we have no sopranos left! But the seats will sell, and we will be rich. Gossip is now our friend."

Andre bursts in, fuming. "God in heaven, if this is what the business is always like I shall die early. Oh, we are ruined!"

"Andre, please don't shout . . ." Firmin sighed. "It's publicity! And the take is vast! Free publicity and all that good stuff!"

"How can this be good? We have no cast! No singers! In case you need reminding, this is an opera. We need singers!!!"

Firmin sighed again, and began shuffling through his mail. "Hello, what's this?" he asked, holding up two notes. He began to read them aloud.

"Dear Andre; what a delightful achievement! Lydia enjoyed a great success! We really weren't missing anything when Carlotta left – otherwise the chorus was great, but the dancing was a mess!"

"Dear Firmin; just a brief reminder: my salary has not been paid. Send it care of the poltergeist, by return of post P.T.O.: No one likes a cheat, so it's better if my orders are obeyed!"

"Who would have the absolute gall to send this drivel?" Andre roared.

"They are both signed OG." Firmin noted.

"Who the hell is it?"

"The Opera Ghost! You remember that foolishness they were going on about!" Firmin cried.

"This isn't the least bit amusing. Someone is pulling a prank on us, and demanding money to boot! A very strange sort of specter, to need so much money!" Andre ridiculed.

Raoul stomped in, face red, and waving a note above his head. "Where is she? Where have you taken her? You can't keep me from her forever, you know!"

"Who in God's name are you talking about, man? Claire?"

"No you fool, I'm talking about Miss Deetz! Where is she?"

"How on earth should we know?!"

"Don't be stupid, aren't you the one that sent me this note?" Raoul cried angrily.

"Do not fear for Miss Deetz." Andre read carefully. "The Angel of Music has her under his wing. Make no attempt to see her again."

"If you didn't write it, who did?" Raoul asked threateningly.

Before they could answer, Claire bursts in, furious.

"Where is he?" she screeched.

"Carlotta, welcome back," Firmin said.

"Where is he? Where is your precious patron?" she shrieked at him.

"What is it now?" Raoul snaps.

"I got your note, and all I can say is, how DARE you?!"

"An did you send it?" Firmin asked Raoul.

"Of course not! I wouldn't waste either the time or the stationary!" Raoul announced, disgusted and offended. Claire itched to slap him, but she restrained herself.

"You dare lie to my face and tell me you didn't write this yourself?!" she screamed at him

Firmin, looking a little lost, asked plaintively, "What's going on?"

"What is this letter I am supposed to have written which offends you so much," Raoul asked, already tired of the subject.

Claire slapped the letter onto his palm.

"Your days at the Opera Populaire are numbered. Lydia Deetz will be singing for you tonight. Be ready for disaster, should you try to take her place."

"I am getting a little sick of all this intrigue," Andre said in a bored voice.

"Far too many notes for my taste . . . and they're all about Lydia! All we've ever heard since we came here is that girl's name!"

"Miss Deetz has returned." Miss Shannon announced, sticking her head through the door.

"I trust her midnight oil is well and truly burned." Firmin said dryly.

"Where precisely is she now?" Andre asked, tapping his foot impatiently.

"I thought it best that she went home . . . She needed rest." Miss Shannon said

"May I see her?" Raoul asked plaintively

"No, sir, she will see no-one."

"Will she sing? Will she sing?" Claire shouted.

"Here is a note," Miss Shannon said, leaving quickly.

Everybody reached for it at once. "Let me see it!" they all screamed.

"People please!" Firmin scolded. He cleared his throat and began to read.

""Hey, Breathers! So far I have given you some _very_ helpful hints as to how MY theatre is to be run. You have not followed my instructions. However, I'm just such a forgiving guy, that I'll give you one last chance. Lydia Deetz has returned to you, and I want her career to progress in the new production of "Il Muto." You will cast Carlotta as the Pageboy, and put Lydia in the role of Countess. The role that Lydia will play, the Countess, is no less than she deserves. The role of the Pageboy is silent - which makes my casting perfect. I'm gonna watch this shindig from my normal seat in Box Five, which WILL be kept empty for me. If these orders are ignored, a disaster beyond anything you could imagine will happen. I remain, Gentlemen, Your servant, O.G."

"Lydia! This is all a ploy to help Lydia. I know who's been sending these notes!" Claire shrieked, swinging around to point at Raoul. "This man, her lover!"

"Oh really?" Raoul said sarcastically. "Can you believe this?" he asked the managers.

"Oh cruel fate!" Claire cried dramatically

"This is a joke!" Firmin tried to reassure Claire. "This changes nothing!"

"O mentitori!" she screamed.

"Ma'am!" Firmin squawked.

"You are our star!" Andre cried, bowing dramatically. "And you always will be! Why, the man is mad! We don't take orders!"

"Miss Deetz will be playing the Pageboy - the silent role . . ." Firmin said resolutely. "Claire will be playing the lead!"

"It's useless trying to pacify me! You're only saying this to please me!" Claire said, stomping her foot and threatening to leave.

Miss Shannon popped her head in again. "The angel hears, and the angel will know!" she said worriedly.

"Why did she run away from me?" Raoul thought miserably.

"You have reviled me! You have replaced me! You have, like, rebuked me!" Claire screamed.

"Miss Claire, please forgive us!" the managers said desperately.

"Everything you fear shall be revealed in this, your darkest hour!" Miss Shannon prophesied darkly.

"Miss Claire, sing for us, don't be a martyr! Your fans, they need you!"

"Where did she go? And why? What next? What new surprises lie in store?" Raoul said angrily.

Everybody became distracted from their own thoughts, as the managers approached Claire.

"Miss Claire, your public needs you! They beg for you! We need you too, our show rests on you!" Firmin begged.

"Wouldn't you much rather have your little innocent here sing for you?" Claire asked scornfully, pointing towards Lydia.

"Prima Donna, first lady of the stage! Your fans are on their knees to implore you! Can you bow out when they're shouting your name? Think of how they all adore you! Prima Donna, enchant us once again! Think of your muse . . . And of the lines round the theatre! Can you deny us the triumph in store? Sing, Prima Donna, once more!"

"Well, if I, like, must . . ." Claire said coyly.

"You must! You must!" they cried.

"Prima Donna, your song shall live again!" Claire said to herself, with an ugly smile. "You took quite a snub, but, like, there's a public that needs you!"

"Lydia spoke of an angel . . ." Raoul murmured to himself.

"Lydia has heard the voice of the angel of music." Miss Shannon mused to herself.

"Those who hear your voice liken it to the songs of the angels!" Firmin cried enthusiastically.

"Think of their cry of undying support!" Claire said excitedly, getting caught up in the moment.

"Is this her angel of music . . .?" Raoul mused, disturbed.

"We get our opera, she gets her limelight!" Andre said smugly to Firmin.

"Follow where the limelight leads you!" Claire cried happily.

"Is this ghost an angel or a madman . . .?" Miss Shannon wondered.

"Leading ladies are a trial!" sighed Firmin to Andre.

"Heaven help you, those who doubt . . ." Miss Shannon warned.

"You'll sing again, and to unending ovation!" Claire cackled.

"Orders! Warnings! Lunatic demands!" spouted off Raoul, frustrated.

"This miscasting will invite damnation . . ." Miss Shannon singsonged.

"Tears . . . oaths . . . Iunatic demands are regular occurrences!" Andre and Firmin said together.

"Think how you'll shine in that final encore! Sing, Prima Donna, once more!" Claire squealed.

"Oh fools, to have ignored his warnings!" Miss Shannon moaned.

"Surely, for her sake, surely he'll strike back . . ." Raoul mused.

"Surely there'll be further scenes - worse than this!" Firmin assured Andre, who began to look sick.

"Think, before these demands are rejected!" Miss Shannon pleaded.

"I must see these demands are rejected!" Raoul said firmly.

Who'd believe a diva happy to relieve a chorus girl, who's gone and slept with the patron? Raoul and the soubrette, entwined in love's duet! Although he may demur, he must have been with her!

"Lydia must be protected!" Raoul said out loud.

"You'd never get away with all this in an opera, but if it's loudly sung and in a foreign language it's just the sort of story audiences love, in fact a perfect opera!" Firmin said, brainstorming ferociously.

"His game is over!" Raoul said, smacking his fist into his palm.

"This is a game you cannot hope to win!" Miss Shannon pleaded with him.

To no avail, her pleas fell on deaf ears. "And in Box Five a new game will begin . . ."

"For, if his curse is on this opera . . ." Miss Shannon said "Then I fear the outcome."

"Prima Donna, the world is at your feet! A nation waits, and how it hates to be cheated!" Andre said, afraid they hadn't done quite enough convincing yet.

"The stress that, like, falls upon a famous Prima Donna! Terrible diseases, coughs and colds and sneezes! Still, the sorest throat will reach the highest note, in search of the perfect opera!"

Lydia plays the Pageboy, Carlotta plays the Countess . . ." Raoul said.

"Light up the stage with that age old rapport! Sing, Prima Donna, once more!" The managers cried, and then collapsed with exhaustion.

"So, it is to be war between us! If these demands are not met, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur!" the poltergeist screamed out in rage, from somewhere behind the walls. However, everyone was so busy talking and plotting, that he went unheard.

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	5. Chapter 5

All right people, if you don't review, I don't give you review brownies. And the review brownies are good. Calorie free and all.

My favorite scene:D

I own nothing. Nothing except the concept of mixing these two stories. I don't own the actual stories though. So stop suing me!

**The Poltergeist of the Opera**

Chapter 5 

The Opera, Il Muto, was running that evening. Raoul meandered up to box five, and peeked around. Nothing. Feeling a surge of confidence, he called out to Firmin, "Better find your seat my friend, it's starting. I shall sit here."

"Are you sure that's wise?" Firmin asked.

"Well, apparently, there's nowhere else to sit!" Raoul said, winking and nudging him with his elbow. "Eh? Eh?" he said conspiratorially.

Firmin shrugged and wandered off, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, "Your funeral . . ."

The curtain rose to reveal an 18th Century salon, a canopied bed center-stage. Claire played the Countess. Serafimo, the pageboy, was disguised as her maid and was played by Lydia. They were hidden behind the drapes of the bed, which were drawn. In the room were two men: one a hairdresser and one a jeweler. The jeweler was attended by Bertha. There was also an older woman, the Countess' confidante. All, especially Bertha were gossiping with relish about the Countess' current liaison with Serafimo.

"They say that this youth has set my Lady's heart aflame!" The old woman said sagely.

"His Lordship surely would die of shock!" the hairdresser sniffed.

"His Lordship is a laughing-stock!" rejoined the jeweler.

"Should he suspect her, God protect her!" Bertha said.

"Shame! Shame! Shame! This faithless lady's bound for Hades! Shame! Shame! Shame!" they all said together.

"Nothing like the old operas!" Andre observed fondly.

"Or the old scenery, the old singers, the old audience . . ." Firmin sighed.

"Good Lord man, _I'm_ starting to feel old!" Andre broke in.

"And every seat sold!" Firmin concluded happily. "Hardly a disaster beyond all imagination!"

They caught the attention of Raoul, and waved drunkenly. He waved back, annoyed, and continued watching for Lydia.

"Serafimo - your disguise is perfect." Claire sang loudly. A knock at the door interrupted her. "Like, who can this be?" she screamed, exasperated.

"Gentle wife, admit your loving husband." The singer cried dramatically. "My love - I am called to England on affairs of State, and I must leave you with your new maid. Though I'd happily take the maid with me," he whispered the last part.

"The old fool's like, leaving!" the Countess whispered to Serafimo.

"I suspect my young bride is untrue to me. I shall not leave, but shall hide over there to observe her!" he whispered to himself gleefully. Maybe he'd get to see some action!

"Goodbye, loving wife!" he sang.

"Whatever," the Countess said.

He turned, pretending to leave, then hid and watched the action

"Serafimo - away with this pretence!" Claire cried, ripping off Lydia's skirt to show long pants underneath. "You cannot speak, but kiss me in my husband's absence! Poor fool, he makes me laugh!" Claire starts cackling uncontrollably. "Time I tried to get a better half! Poor fool, he doesn't know! If he knew the truth, he'd never, ever go!"

"You know, I seem to remember telling certain someone's that Booth 5 was to be kept empty for me!" the poltergeist voice boomed out. It was impossible to tell where it was coming from.

Bertha moaned audibly. "It's the Poltergeist!" she cried.

Lydia glanced around nervously. "It's him . . . I know it . . . it's him . . ."

"Your part is silent, little toad!" Claire hissed at her.

The poltergeist heard, and spoke up angrily. "A toad, Madame? Perhaps it is you who are the toad . . . You sure look like one!"

The audience murmured worriedly. Claire strode down to the front, and spoke with the conductor. After a moment, she walked back up front, and they started the music again. In the middle of one of the lyrics however, a yellow flash briefly lights up her throat.

"Serafimo, away with this pretence! You cannot speak, but kiss me in my **CROAK**!" she spluttered.

In the middle of singing she emitted a great croak like a toad. There was a stunned silence. Claire was as amazed as anyone but she regained her composure and continued. A more distracting sound was becoming audible, however: the Poltergeist is laughing - quietly at first, then more and more hysterically

"Poor fool, he makes me laugh - Hahahahaha! **Croak, croak, croak**. The croaking continued as the chandelier's lights blinked on and off. The Poltergeist's laughter, by this time overpowering, rose up into a manic scream. "Well, would you look at that? She is singing to bring down the chandelier!"

Claire looked up at the manager's box, tears of humiliation running down her face. "I cannot . . . I cannot go on . . . it's, like, over."

"Claire, Claire . . . I'm here . . . is all right . . . Come . . . I'm here . . ." Piangi said to her softly, having rushed onstage.

Andre and Firmin hurried out of the box onto the stage. Piangi ushered the now sobbing Claire offstage, while the Managers tackled the audience.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the performance will continue in ten minutes' time . . ." Firmin announced, eyeing the chandelier as it returned to normal. "When the role of the Countess will be sung by Miss Lydia Deetz."

"In the meantime, ladies and gentlemen, we shall be giving you the ballet from Act Three of tonight's opera." Andre improvised. "Maestro - the ballet - now!" he whispered desperately.

The managers left quickly, the stage was cleared and music started again. The ballet girls enter as a sylvan glade flew in. They began the Dance of the Country Nymphs.

Upstage, behind the drop, there was a series of threatening shadows of the Poltergeist. Bertha saw them and, danced out of step. All the shadows mingled together, in one gigantic, oppressive, bat-like shadow.

Then, the dead body of Joseph, the stagehand, fell onto the stage, causing the sylvan glade to fly out. The audience screamed loudly, and there was general pandemonium.

Lydia screamed in horror too. Before she could move, she was grabbed roughly by the arm, and dragged out of the room. "Come!" Raoul whispered harshly in her ear. "To the roof! We'll be safer there!"

"Please, people, stay in your seats! It was an accident – that's all! An accident!" Firmin cried, as the police and stagehands swamped the stage.

Please, people, I seem to be under some sort of review curse. Leave a review, break the spell!

Please leave a contribution in the little box!


	6. Chapter 6

All right people, if you don't review, I don't give you review brownies. And the review brownies are good. Calorie free and all.

This is another of my favorite scenes! Lots a stuff happening. Like love, and hate, and flying chandeliers, and shit like that.

If any of you out there have any objections to the way I am portraying Raoul, then stuff a sock in it. I don't wanna hear it.

I would like it if anybody reviewed though. Please?

I own nothing. Nothing except the concept of mixing these two stories. I don't own the actual stories though. So stop suing me!

**The Poltergeist of the Opera**

Chapter 6 

"Why have you taken me here?" Lydia cried. "We must return! I must . . . There must be something I can do! I can't hide from him Raoul. His eyes will find me here!"

"Be still now, Lydia, don't say that, don't even think it . . ." Raoul pleaded nervously.

"I saw the look in his eyes, Raoul. And if he has to kill a thousand men –"

"Forget this waking nightmare –" he soothed ineffectually.

"Believe me, Raoul, the Poltergeist of the Opera _will_ kill, and kill again!"

"This poltergeist is a fable, believe me, there is no Poltergeist of the Opera, nothing can happen to you. I'll . . . _protect_ you," he managed to say through clenched teeth. His eyes glazed slightly in fear. "My God, who is this man who hunts to kill? This mask of death?"

"I can't escape from him, and I never will . . ." Lydia whispered.

"Whose is this voice you hear with every breath? And in this labyrinth, where night is blind the Poltergeist of the Opera is here: inside your mind, there is no Phantom of the Opera . . ."

"Raoul, I've _been_ there –" Lydia insisted. "To his lair of candles, and cobwebs, and underground lakes, and it's beautiful . . . Raoul, I've seen him! I'll never forget his face. He was so filthy, so pale, and so corpselike; it was hardly a face at all. But his music was a weird, wonderful sound. And I heard as I'd never heard before."

"What you heard was a dream and nothing more," Raoul said tenderly, patting her hand. He had convinced himself by now that the Poltergeist truly did not exist. "You really need to see help for these hallucinations of yours, Lydia."

"His eyes were drilling into me the whole time. Big, yellow eyes . . . He looked so miserable when I . . . never mind."

"Lydia . . . Lydia . . ." Raoul sighed. He continued patting her hand, and gave her an indulgent look.

"_Lydia . . ." _a voice sighed in the distance, obviously the Poltergeist's. "_Lydia_ . . ."

"If he isn't real, then what was that, smarty-pants?" Lydia asked.

"No more talk of darkness, forget these wide-eyed fears. I'm here, nothing can harm you - my words will warm and calm you. Let me be your freedom, let daylight dry -your tears. I'm here, with you, beside you, to guard you and to guide you . . ." Raoul sang softly.

Lydia thought about objecting to some of his statements, but she was gradually being caught up in the romantic talk.

"Let me be your shelter, let me be your light. You're safe: No-one will find you your fears are far behind you," Raoul said. Lydia sensed herself responding. She felt an onslaught of emotions that she had never felt before.

She gripped his coat, feeling a new fear. "Say you love me every waking moment. Say you need me with you, now and always. Promise me that all you say is right - that's all I ask of you . . ." Lydia pleaded.

"Then say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime. Let me lead you from your solitude . . . Say you need me with you here, beside you . . . anywhere you go, let me go too - Lydia, that's all _I _ask of _you_ . . ." Raoul said, holding her arms.

Lydia's head spun, and she was dizzy with excitement, half realized fears, and a wild, burning sensation in her stomach. "Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime, say the word and I will follow you," she said. She meant every word, staring up at the man with something akin to worship.

"Say you love me!" Lydia cried unexpectedly.

"You know I do . . ." Raoul whispered in her ear.

Lydia was about ready to dissolve in his embrace, but she remembered something that made her jump up like she'd been electrocuted

"I must go - they'll wonder where I am . . . wait for me, Raoul!" she cried.

"Lydia, I love you!" Raoul cried.

"Order your fine horses! Be with them at the door!" Lydia ordered.

"And soon you'll be beside me!" Raoul said dreamily.

"You'll guard me, and you'll guide me," Lydia sang softly.

-------------------------------------------------------------

The poltergeist waits until they have left, then morosely steps out from behind a statue.

"I gave you my music; made your song take wing!" he fumed. And now, how you've repaid me! Fly straight into the arms of the stuffed up twerp! He was bound to love you when he heard you sing. I know I was. Lydia, oh Lydia, how could you do this to me? I thought we had an understanding!

Faintly, he heard Lydia and Raoul off in the distance. "Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime . . . say the word and I will follow you . . . Share each day with me, each night, each morning . . . "

The poltergeist felt the tears coming, the disappointment washing over him, drowning in it. But he angrily wiped the tears away, and stood tall, shaking his fist at the happy couple.

"You're both gonna regret this. It's not like I was asking for the impossible. But you'll see soon enough," he said out loud. He fished around in his pocket, and came up with a brass engagement ring, with a strange, dark stone in the center.

He had been going to give it to her after her performance. He would've romanced her the way any lady would want to be romanced, with wine and compliments, and good food, and gentlemanly behavior. Not like that clumsy ass had, with haphazardly throwing in promises to protect her from something he claimed didn't exist, treating her like a simpleton.

"Why Babes? Why?" he asked the night sky.

Back on stage, the major singers came out for their bows, with Lydia dressed in Claire' costume. And then the laughing started again

The maniacal cackling of the Poltergeist almost drowned out the cheering. The audience quickly went silent, listening to the unnerving, insane laughter.

The Poltergeist was seated on the catwalk, holding his sides and rolling back and forth in his glee. He had a devilish plot, and he was going to see it through. He pointed at the chandelier. A spark of yellow jumped from his finger, and hit the chandelier.

The chandelier began swinging dangerously, the lights flickering and, at a great cry from him, it descended, swinging more and more madly over the orchestra pit.

"Go!!" he howled, and the chandelier broke loose. It arced lazily towards the stage, gathering momentum and air whistling through its arms. It fell on stage, right at Lydia's feet.

Please, people, I seem to be under some sort of review curse. Leave a review, break the spell!

Please leave a contribution in the little box!


	7. Chapter 7

All right people, if you don't review, I don't give you review brownies. And the review brownies are good. Calorie free and all.

If any of you out there have any objections to the way I am portraying Raoul, then stuff a sock in it. I don't wanna hear it.

I would like it if anybody reviewed though. Please?

I own nothing. Nothing except the concept of mixing these two stories. I don't own the actual stories though. So stop suing me!

**The Poltergeist of the Opera**

Chapter 7 

Many weeks later at the opera house, a masquerade ball was being thrown. A curtain concealed half the room and guests in the opera ball. The guests were wearing fancy dress a peacock, a lion, a dragon, Mephistopheles, a highwayman, a clown, knights, ladies, an executioner. Andre entered the room. He was dressed as a skeleton in an opera cape, mocking the Poltergeist. Almost immediately Firmin arrived after him. He too was dressed as a skeleton in an opera cape. The two saw each other and cautiously walked over, each fearing the worst.

"Firmin?" Andre asked fearfully.

"Andre?" Firmin replied.

After an awkward moment, they lifted their masks, and began speaking rapidly, slightly embarrassed at their displays of fear.

"Dear Andre, what a splendid party!" Firmin observed loudly.

"The prologue to a bright new year! This is quite a night, I'm impressed!" Andre said.

"Well, one does one's best . . ." Firmin said modestly.

They raised their glasses and toasted each other. "Here's to us!" they cried.

"I must say, all the same, that it's a shame that _'Phantom'_ fellow isn't here!" Firmin said brazenly. The alcohol in his system gave him a pleasant, invincible feeling.

The ball began; an eerie song began to play

Masquerade!  
Paper faces on parade . . .  
Masquerade! Hide your face, so the world will never find you!  
Masquerade! Every face a different shade . . .  
Masquerade! Look around there's another mask behind you!  
Flash of mauve . . .  
Splash of puce . . .  
Fool and king . . .  
Ghoul and goose . . .  
Green and black . . .  
Queen and priest . . .  
Trace of rouge . . .  
Face of beast . . .  
Faces . . .  
Take your turn, take a ride on the merry-go-round . . .  
in an inhuman race . . .  
Eye of gold . . .  
True is false, who is who . . .?  
Swirl of gown . . .  
Ace of hearts . . .  
Face of clown . . .  
Faces . . .  
Drink it in, drink it up, till you've drowned in the light . . .  
in the sound . . .  
Masquerade! Grinning yellows, spinning reds . . .  
Masquerade! Take your fill - let the spectacle astound you!  
Masquerade! Burning glances, turning heads . . .

Masquerade! Stop and stare at the sea of smiles around you!  
Masquerade! Seething shadows breathing lies . . .  
Masquerade! You can fool any friend who ever knew you!  
Masquerade! Leering satyrs, peering eyes . . .  
Masquerade! Run and hide - but a face will still pursue you!

Miss Shannon breathed deeply behind her mask. "What a night; what a crowd!"

"Makes you glad, makes you proud! All the crème de la crème!" Andre beamed.

"Watching us, like, watching them!" Claire muttered.

"And all our fears are in the past!" Miss Shannon thought triumphantly.

"Six whole, beautiful months of relief!" Firmin said, giggling.

"Of absolute, like, delight!" Claire said. "No more notes, no more anything from that horrible thing!"

"And we can breathe at last!" Miss Shannon said, stretching back happily.

"No more ghost!" Piangi said, hugging Claire.

"Here's a toast." Firmin said. "To life and health, a prosperous year, and here's to our new chandelier!" he said, giggling even more.

"And may its splendor never fade!" Claire and Piangi said at the same time.

They clinked their glasses and moved off, chattering happily. Raoul and Lydia emerge. She loudly admired her newest acquisition; engagement ring from Raoul, which she attached to a gold chain around her neck.

"Think of it! A secret engagement! Look - your future bride! Just think of it!" Lydia said happily. "I'll put it on a necklace and put it under my dress – Nobody will ever look there!"

Raoul scowled at Lydia's naivety, and asked in a whiney voice. "But why is it secret? What have we to hide?"

"Please, just let it go. Just please drop the subject, we've discussed it enough already . . ." Lydia said, aggravation clear in her voice.

"Lydia, you're free! Free to do my laundry and wash my feet!"

"Wait till the time is right," Lydia said unflappably.

"Yeah, and when will _that_ be? It's an engagement, for god's sake, not a crime! Lydia, what are you afraid of?" Raoul asked angrily.

"…"

"Lydia . . ."

"Look, let's not fight. Please at least pretend to be understanding and caring. I know it's hard for you, as you've never had any practice, but at least pretend. For me." Lydia said. Her snub went sailing over Raoul's head.

Lydia started dancing with some other partners. But her first partner had on a mask that reminded her of the Poltergeist's mask. He held her hand hard enough to leave bruises.

And so it went on and on. Each of her partners looked a little bit more like the Poltergeist, and each were rougher with her than the previous. Finally, she was partnered with a man with long yellow hair, and a demonic mask. He did not say a word, just gripped her waist hard enough to make her gasp for air, peer down the front of her dress, and then spun her so fast that her head snapped back from the force.

The man trod on her dress, and she heard a small ripping noise. She gasped and tried to look around, but her partner twirled her forcefully

Lydia started crying softly, she was still in pain from all her other partners, this man was making her bruises worse, and now her neck ached horribly. She struggled weakly to get away, but he had a grip like a vise. He snapped her around once again, and her hair fell out of its bun, and framed her face, and large brown eyes.

Just then, Raoul broke through, and rescued Lydia. He clasped her tightly, trying to comfort her, but he only ended up aggravating her bruises. He swept her back into the dance. Lydia clung to him, dazed and frightened and sore.

Please, people, I seem to be under some sort of review curse. Leave a review, break the spell!

Please leave a contribution in the little box!


	8. Chapter 8

All right people, if you don't review, I don't give you review brownies. And the review brownies are good. Calorie free and all.

If anyone out there thinks I have mutilated the story of the Phantom of the Opera by mixing it with Beetlejuice, then you have my sincerest sarcastic apologies, and a raspberry blown at you.

I would like it if anybody reviewed though. Please?

I own nothing. Nothing except the concept of mixing these two stories. I don't own the actual stories though. So stop suing me!

**The Poltergeist of the Opera**

Chapter 8

At the height of the activity a bizarre figure suddenly appeared at the top of the staircase. Dressed like a rotting corpse, wearing the burial robes, the face sagging and twisted. The Poltergeist had come to the party. As everybody's eyes turned to him, he unleashed a manic cackle, and spun around, jumping on a man's back and planting a smooch on the top of his bald head. The man collapsed slowly.

He slid down the stair rail on one toe, and then leaped into the center of the room, where he was the center of attention.

"Why so silent, my good fellas? Did you think that I had left you for good? Have you missed me, at all? Because I have missed you! Here, I've written you an opera!" He fished inside one of his endless pockets, and produced an enormous bound manuscript  
"I have here in my hands, the finished score of; Don Juan Triumphant!"

He tossed it carelessly at Andre, and then raised a finger threateningly. "I advise you to listen this time – Even you can't be so stupid as to be unable to understand – Remember there are worse things than a shattered chandelier!" he warned.

Lydia disentangled herself from Raoul's arms, who had grabbed her and practically put a chokehold on her when the Poltergeist appeared. She walked forward hesitantly, eyes fixed on him.

"Yes, that's right. I knew you couldn't resist me. Wait, what's that around your neck –"

The poltergeist ripped her engagement ring from around her neck, and hung it in front of her eyes, shaking it angrily.

"You! You, your soul, your body and mind, belong to me! You will NOT have another!"

He turned around and started stomping towards the exit, fading as he did so, and finally, about nine feet away from the door, he evaporated completely.

Miss Shannon whirled around a few minutes after his disappearance, and headed quickly to an exit.

"Miss Shannon. Miss Shannon . . ." Raoul cried desperately, running after her. Not having exercised in a long time, he was huffing and puffing by the time he caught up.

"Sir, don't ask me - I know no more than anyone else." Miss Shannon said, obviously feeling the pricks of a guilty conscious. She turned away and started to hustle back out again, but Raoul, seeing no reason to start chasing her again, stops her before she can start.

"That's not true. You've seen something, haven't you?" he whispered in her ear.

"I don't know what I've seen . . . Please don't ask me, sir . . ."

"Madame, for all our sakes you must—" Raoul cried desperately.

"Well," Miss Shannon cut off, twitching nervously. "It was about two years ago. I was preparing for the morning dance routines, and I saw something in my mirror. It was a man, and yet not a man . . ."

"Go on," Raoul said, trying to stay interested.

"He spoke to me through the glass. He pleaded with me to let him out. He was very rude at first, but I tried to leave and he changed his tune. Said he was suffering, he wouldn't last much longer, that he needed my help. To free him, I had to say his name three times."

"Sorcery?" Raoul asked, suddenly interested.

"Something. Anyways, he told me he couldn't tell me his name, and made up some ridiculous excuse involving autographs, and we ended up playing charades to figure his name out."

"What was his name?" Raoul asked breathlessly.

"I can't say it. He told me that if I said it three more times, he would grow even more powerful."

Up above her, the poltergeist crossed his fingers.

"He told me to just call him BJ," Miss Shannon said. Lydia, who had been cautiously listening in on the whole conversation smiled a small, triumphant smile. She had a name for her Poltergeist now.

Miss Shannon abruptly picked up her skirts and began to walk away rather quickly. "I have said too much," she muttered. "Loose lips, always have. Wonder what Beetlejuice will think of that," she muttered, not noticing her slip. Lydia, hearing the muttering, gasped quietly.

His name was Beetlejuice? What an odd name. It fit though, it really did.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

The Poltergeist's score lay open on the desk. Andre was impatiently flicking through it.

"Ludicrous! Have you seen the score?" he cried out angrily, tempted to sweep it off his desk into the trash. "Simply ludicrous! It's the final straw!"

"This is lunacy!" Firmin agreed. "Well, you know my views . . ."

"Utter lunacy!" Andre cried again.

"But we dare not refuse . . ." Firmin sighed, prodding at the stack of papers angrily.

"Not another chandelier . . ." Andre groaned. "My nerves can't take it anymore!"

"Look, my friend, what do we have here . . ." Firmin asked, picking up two notes impaled onto the desk with a hatpin.

"Dear Andre, Re my orchestrations: we need another first bassoon.  
Get a player with talent - and that third trombone has to go! The man is as tune-deaf as a post, so please preferably one who plays in tune!"

Firmin picked up the other note, and began to read aloud.

"Dear Firmin, vis a vis my opera: some chorus-members must be sacked. If you could, find out which has a sense of pitch – because I'm just smart like that though, I've managed to assign a tiny role to those who cannot act!"

Just then, Claire stormed in, along with Piangi. Both were wearing similar looks of fury.

"Outrage!" Claire screamed.

"What is it now?" Firmin snapped.

"This whole affair is an outrage! Have you seen the size of my part?" she cried, shaking her note in his face.

"Miss, listen . . ." Firmin said, rubbing his temples.

"It's an insult!" Piangi roared. "Just look at this - it's an insult!"

"The things I have to do for my art!" Claire moaned

Piangi stabbed his finger at the score. "If you can call this gibberish 'art'!"

Raoul and Lydia entered, Lydia leaning against Raoul's arm, the circles under her eyes darker than ever. Claire spitefully attributed it to some illicit midnight activity.

"Ah! Here's our little flower!" Claire sang out in a syrupy flattering voice.

"Ah Miss Deetz, quite the lady of the hour!" Firmin said, also spitefully.

"You have secured the largest role in this "Don Juan." Andre explained in a bit more of a civil tone.

Lydia Deetz? She doesn't have the voice!" Claire said, half to herself.

"Miss Claire!" Andre squawked.

Raoul, ignoring Claire, said to the managers, "Then I take it you're agreeing."

"She's behind this . . ." Claire whispered, incensed.

"It appears we have no choice." Andre said heavily.

"She's the one behind this! Lydia Deetz!" Claire burst out, unable to control herself any longer. She jabbed a finger at Lydia

"How dare you!" Lydia burst out, furious.

"I'm not, like, a fool!" Claire sneered back.

"You evil woman! How dare you!" Lydia cried angrily, clenching her fists at her sides.

"You think I'm blind?" Claire said, starting to reach for Lydia's hair.

"This isn't my fault!" Lydia cried, smacking her hands away. "This isn't my fault! I don't want any part in this plot!"

"Miss Deetz, surely we can work something out!" Firmin said.

"But why not?" Andre said, baffled

"What does she say?" Piangi asked in disbelief.

"It's your decision – " Firmin said reasonably. But then he rounded on her and asked, "But why not?"

"She's backing out!" Claire said to Piangi gleefully.

"You have a duty!" Andre roared.

"I cannot sing it, duty or not" Lydia said

"Please, sir: another note." Miss Shannon said.

"Fondest greetings to you all!" she read. "A few instructions just before rehearsal starts: Claire must be taught to act; not her normal trick of strutting round the stage. Our Don Juan must lose some weight - it's not healthy in a man of Piangi's age. And my managers must learn that their place is in an office, not the arts. As for Miss Lydia Deetz . . . No doubt she'll do her best - it's true her voice is good. She knows, though, should she wish to excel she has much still to learn, if pride will let her return to me, her teacher. Your obedient friend . . . and Angel."

Raoul snapped his fingers. "Suppose we do play this piece," he suggested. "And doing so, we set up a trap for this monster. He's sure to visit his opera, listen to the music he wrote, to watch Miss Deetz sing. If we catch him there, the game is up!"

Miss Shannon reacted with alarm. "Oh no!" she pleaded. "The game will never be up, you cannot win against him!"

"Why don't you stick to ballet," Firmin suggested coldly.

"If Miss Deetz will help, we can catch this maniac, and people will have longer life expectancies here!" Andre said excitedly.

They all began to plot and cackle loudly. Lydia tried to speak over the din, but they were too loud, they could not hear her. Finally, she screamed as loudly as she could.

"Good Lord woman!" Andre snapped out.

"If you don't stop, I'll go insane!" Lydia cried. "Raoul, I'm frightened - don't make me do this. Raoul, it scares me - don't put me through this ordeal by fire. He'll take me, I know; we'll be parted forever, he won't let me go! What I once used to dream I now dread. If he finds me, it won't ever end and he'll always be there, singing songs in my head . . . " Lydia said, crying hard

"She's like, crazy . . ." Claire said, making a corkscrew motion by the side of her head.

"You have to do this," Raoul said calmly. "Because this is partly your fault. You should never have let him get so fixated on you. I mean, honestly! You hear a stranger's voice in your room, and you instantly think, 'Angel of Music' instead of 'Pervert?' I mean, come on!"

Lydia felt a sickening wave of guilt wash over her.

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Please leave a contribution in the little box!


	9. Chapter 9

All right people, if you don't review, I don't give you review brownies. And the review brownies are good. Calorie free and all.

If anyone out there thinks I have mutilated the story of the Phantom of the Opera by mixing it with Beetlejuice, then you have my sincerest sarcastic apologies, and a raspberry blown at you.

I would like it if anybody reviewed though. Please?

I own nothing. Nothing except the concept of mixing these two stories. I don't own the actual stories though. So stop suing me!

**The Poltergeist of the Opera**

Chapter 9

Lydia was feeling depressed. Memories of her mother were overwhelming her. She missed her mother so badly. The way she played her violin, and Lydia would sing along happily. The way she would teach her to act on stage, the way she encouraged her dreams. With a sigh, Lydia got up. No sleep for her tonight.

She got dressed and went outside, ordering her coach to take her to the graveyard. He gave her a double-glance, and then slowly shook his head, whistling. Lydia ignored him. After about fifteen minutes, they reached the graveyard. Lydia slipped out, and walked to her mother's grave. It was a shelter-like structure, covered with hanging moss. A pyramid of skulls sat in the center.

Lydia sighed, and brushed to monument with her hand.

"You were once my one companion," she said softly

"You were all that mattered. You were once a friend and mother - then my world was shattered. I wish you were somehow here again. Wishing you were somehow near. Sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed, somehow you would be here. Wishing I could hear your voice again, knowing that I never would. Dreaming of you won't help me to do all that you dreamed I could. Passing bells  
and sculpted angels, cold and monumental, seem, for you, the wrong companions - you were warm and gentle. Too many years fighting back tears, Why can't the past just die, why can't I change it? Knowing we must say goodbye try to forgive, teach me to live, give me the strength to try. No more memories, no more silent tears. No more gazing across the wasted years. Help me say goodbye," Lydia wept over her mother's grave

The poltergeist emerged from behind a cross. "Wandering child, so lost, so helpless, desperately needing my guidance." He said, so quietly she could just barely make out the words.

Lydia looked up, half frightened, half overjoyed. "Angel, or mother, friend, or Poltergeist?" she murmured. "Who is it there, staring?" she cried.

"Have you forgotten your Angel?" he singsonged in a low, hypnotic voice.

Lydia clasped her hands, forgetting all that this Angel had done. "Angel, oh, speak to me! Don't leave me here, teach me more!"

Raoul popped up over the gate, holding a bouquet of wildflowers. He noticed Lydia standing next to her mother's grave, speaking to the poltergeist. He ducked down, then reappeared in the shadows and watched for a  
moment transfixed

"Too long you've wandered alone, where even I can't see you," the poltergeist said, drawing her closer to him.

"Once again she returns to him, once again she is his. This guy gets all the breaks."

"I remember all of the terrible things you have done, I remember the people you've killed, the money you've cost the opera." Lydia said to him.

"And yet your soul still listens and obeys, your soul is still mine," the poltergeist reminded her.

"Once again, she flees to the arms of her angel, angel or demon, still he calls her, luring her back, from the grave, angel or dark seducer? Who are you, strange angel?" he asked, jealously.

"You denied me, turning from true beauty and musical genius, if I do say so myself. Don't turn your back on me again, come to your strange Angel," Beetlejuice cried, stretching out his arms.

"I denied you, turning from your genius. You're my protector, I'll never forget again! Come to me, strange Angel," Lydia choked, tears swelling in her eyes, and feeling inexpressibly guilty. She moved towards him quickly.

"Angel of darkness!" Raoul cried, deciding he might as well get into the terminology as well. "Cease this torment!"

Lydia paused and turned back, eyes wide. Seeing this, the poltergeist quickly kept talking.

I am your Angel of Music, remember? Come to me: I'll take care of you!"

Lydia! Lydia, listen to me! Whatever you may believe, this man, this thing, is not your father! Let her go! For God's sake, let her go! Lydia!"

"Raoul . . ." Lydia asked foggily, turning around.

With an inhuman roar of rage, the poltergeist leaped at Raoul, swinging a previously nonexistent sword at his head. Raoul just barely had time to grab his sword and block his strike, his sword still halfway in its sheath.

Raoul dragged his sword out completely, and slashed at the poltergeist ferociously. Lydia clutched the collar of her cloak tightly, and stood where she was, not sure who she wanted to win.

The poltergeist chased Raoul all across the graveyard, roaring in fury. Finally, he managed to slash the man's arm. He fell back, and examined the wound, biting his lip hard to keep from crying out.

Beetlejuice grinned, savoring the moment. He would win for certain now. He drifted back, and levitated the sword.

"Come on, Goldilocks, let's see how well you do against a sword with no one wielding it!" he sneered.

Raoul tried desperately to get past the sword and strike the now unarmed man, but to no avail. So he did the one thing you should never do. He cheated.

He gathered up a big snowball, dodging several strikes from the enchanted sword, then wound up, and flung it straight at the poltergeist.

Instantly, both the sword and the man dropped straight to the ground, one growling and thrashing, trying to scoop the snow out of his eyes, the other slowly disappearing. Raoul desperately kicked up more snow at the poltergeist's eyes, and then slashed him with the sword.

Beetlejuice half rose up out of the snow, grunting in pain. Underneath his black cape peeked traces of a striped suit. A thick black liquid dripped from the wound.

Raoul lifted up his sword like a dagger, and prepared to strike. Lydia, shocked by his underhanded techniques, screamed out, "NO! No, Raoul!" In a calmer voice she continued, "Not like this,"

Raoul struggled with himself, but then finally sheathed his sword angrily. He whirled around and grabbed Lydia by the elbow, and dragged her towards his horse. Lydia could not resist looking back, and the sight broke her heart. The poltergeist she now knew as Beetlejuice was sitting slumped over in the snow, head bowed.

Raoul roughly dragged her up onto the horse, and they rode right past the poltergeist, who looked up mournfully. Lydia reached out to try and touch him, but he was already behind them.

She refused to speak to Raoul.

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Please leave a contribution in the little box!


	10. Chapter 10

All right people, if you don't review, I don't give you review brownies. And the review brownies are good. Calorie free and all.

If anyone out there thinks I have mutilated the story of the Phantom of the Opera by mixing it with Beetlejuice, then you have my sincerest sarcastic apologies, and a raspberry blown at you.

I would like it if anybody reviewed though. Please?

I own nothing. Nothing except the concept of mixing these two stories. I don't own the actual stories though. So stop suing me!

**The Poltergeist of the Opera**

Chapter 10

It was the night of the performance. Lydia anxiously twisted her hands together, wrung them, wiped them on her dress, and tore her handkerchief into dozens of tiny pieces. She was horribly nervous.

This was the night that they were to perform the Poltergeist's opera. And Lydia was ashamed. Not of the piece itself, for she thought it beautiful, if not a little explicit. No, she was ashamed of the part she was playing in the attempt to trap her poltergeist.

When had he become _her_ poltergeist, instead of just _a _poltergeist? When had she started to care for him, not fear him?

She hoped he wouldn't be there. She knew, with how nervous she was, that she'd butcher the songs, and then he would be ashamed of her. _Beetlejuice_ would be ashamed of her. What a strange name that was. However strange, it was fitting.

She became aware of a dull pain in her hands, and looked down to realize she had been clenching her fists so tightly that there were little crescent-shaped marks on her palms, surrounded by rapidly darkening bruises.

She was so frightened.

Beetlejuice floated behind the curtain, cackling evilly. His plan had worked out anyways, despite the buffoons. Humans and their guns.

He slowly crept behind the man who was playing HIS part! Don Juan! He snapped his fingers, and watched the man crumple over lifelessly. He let a wild shriek of laughter, not caring if anyone heard, for he saw, just for a fleeting moment, the man's soul drift past him, a horrified look on its face.

He dragged the body off to the side and propped it up, stuffing an apple in its mouth for theatric effect

On stage, Lydia took off her cloak and sat down. She looked about her, half in character, half looking out for one particular face. Seeing no one, she took out an apple from her pocket, and munched on it contemplatively. Don Juan entered from stage left, his face hidden by a mask. He immediately dominated the stage just with his presence.

He began to sing in a low, gravelly voice. Lydia's fingers went numb, the apple sliding out of her grasp and rolling across the stage. Never would she have imagined he had the absolute daring to get up on stage, in front of everybody.

She whipped around, staring at him, like the prey staring at the hunter. His hypnotic green eyes seemed to pin her in place.

Slowly, the lyrics came back to her. She could sing with him. She would, and she would face the consequences later.

Lydia poured out her soul in the duet, sang like she'd never sung before. And then he sang back to her.

"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime . . . Lead me, save me from my solitude . . ." he sang the lyrics.

He pulled a tiny ring off his little finger, and held it out to her. Lydia gasped audibly. It was an engagement ring, with a simply massive ruby in the center. Lydia reached out and slid it on her finger.

"Say you want me with you, here beside you . . . Anywhere you go let me go too –"

Lydia thought quickly. She wanted to leave. To go now. She didn't want to bargain, or have to try and convince him. So she came up with a ten-second plan. Take his mask off. It was risky; he might just disappear without her. But she didn't think he would, after all, she had accepted his ring. So she reached up and yanked his mask off. He backed up and looked around. From all the audience members came horrified gasps. The pale, purplish skin, the mold, the deep eye circles . . . the audience was terrified. They began to stampede, like so much human cattle.

The forces of law began to work their way towards the stage. The Poltergeist stepped back towards Lydia, and swept his cloak around her. They both disappeared.

A stagehand lifted the curtain, revealing the actor propped up in the corner, with an apple in his mouth.

Raoul ran up to Miss Shannon. "You have to take me to him!" he cried.

"Of course!" she said. "But you must be careful."

"Of course," he said arrogantly.

He heard the offstage voices of the pursuing mob, intent on blood.

"Track down this murderer! He must be found!" they chanted, over and over again.

The poltergeist moved somewhere else. "Hounded out by everyone! Met with hatred everywhere! No kind word from anyone! No compassion anywhere! Lydia, Lydia . . .Why, why . . .?"

Miss Shannon and Raoul moved quickly through the tunnel system. Suddenly she shrieked aloud. Raoul whipped around, and saw her cringing up against the wall, pointing shakily at a cluster of rats. Raoul scowled and sheathed his sword.

"He lives on an island in the middle of this lake. I value my life, so I will go no further. Good luck!" she said, scurrying off.

Raoul heard the mob chanting in the distance. "Track down this murderer - He must be found! Hunt out this animal, who runs to ground! Too long he's preyed on us - but now we know: the Phantom of the Opera is there deep down below . . . He's here: the Phantom of the Opera . . ." the chant died away in the distance.

Lydia stared at the Poltergeist's back, feeling awful. She should have made a better plan.

"I'm . . . sorry," she offered, trying to lay her hand on his back. His only response was to slap her hand away.

"I –" she started. He raised a hand and shushed her. He stood up and peered around. "Well well well, this really is a surprise. I had no idea you'd want to visit me, of all people!" he called out mockingly, apparently to nobody. Lydia was about to ask, when Raoul stepped up.

The poltergeist snapped his fingers, and suddenly Raoul was in a small metal cage. "Sorcery!" he hissed. Beetlejuice just shrugged.

"Call it what you want," he said off-handedly. Lydia noticed a cold gleam in his eyes.

"Free her! Do what you like only free her! Have you no pity?" Raoul cried, shaking the bars of his cage.

The Poltergeist turned to Lydia and smirked at her sarcastically. "Your lover makes a passionate plea!" he stated, intending to shame her.

Lydia stared at the ground, furious with Raoul for barging in, and furious that her poltergeist wasn't sending him away.

Realizing that Raoul had been babbling the whole time, she interrupted him. "Please, Raoul, stop . . ."

"I love her! Does that mean nothing? I love her! Show some compassion . . ."

"The world showed never compassion to me, before or after!" Beetlejuice snarled.

"Lydia . . . Lydia . . ." Raoul moaned. Lydia wanted to choke him.

Suddenly, a noose appeared out of nowhere, latching around Raoul's neck.

"I don't see your fine horses around here, Mr. Raoul. I don't see your fine sword, and there doesn't even appear to be any snowballs. But maybe you'll just throw dirt in my eyes. But no, I don't think you can even do that now!" Beetlejuice said menacingly.

Raoul was pulled up to the tips of his toes, frantically dancing for air.

"Wait!" Lydia cried, horrified. Much as she now disliked the man, she didn't want to see him die.

Beetlejuice turned and looked at her. He looked a little sad. "You have a choice now," he said bowing theatrically. "You can go with me, and the runt lives another day. You can leave right now, too, but then squirmy here would have to die."

Lydia had had enough. "How dare you try to force me to go with you, when I was perfectly willing from the get-go?!" she hissed.

Beetlejuice was at a loss for words. Without realizing it, the noose disappeared. Raoul, rubbing his neck and whimpering, crawled away.

Beetlejuice stepped towards Lydia, suddenly energized. He floated just in front of her, forcing her to crane her neck to look him in the eye.

"Did you mean that?" he asked forcefully.

Lydia nodded, feeling very small and very vulnerable. She whispered his name.

"Beetlejuice," she said. It echoed softly in the underground cavern.

He dropped to the ground and wrapped his arms around her. "Say it again, Babes," he breathed.

"Beetlejuice," she said, shivering in excitement. The air around them was becoming charged with the excitement, with some kind of electric tension.

"Just one more time!" he cried exuberantly.

"BEETLEJUICE!" she cried, filling the word with all the power in her lungs.

When the mob finally found its way down to the Poltergeist's lair, all they saw was a black cape, and a theater mask nestled in its folds, carelessly flung to the ground.

_60 years later . . ._

Raoul mumbled and drooled into his beard. Recently, he had been leaving the land of the living to join the ghosts of his memories more and more often, and this time it seemed he was gone for good. His attendant sighed as she rolled him past all the sights he wasn't seeing in his rickety wheeled chair.

She was wrong however. He _was_ seeing it all, but only through a haze of confusion. Right now, a figure prominent in his memories was a young woman with coal black hair, and sad eyes. He'd just wanted to have her, make her happy, and make her his own.

Through the fog of his confused mind, he thought he saw her now, peering back at him through a store window, followed by the monster she had chosen over him, laughing and pointing. He had never seen her laugh before.

He let out a string of unintelligible chatter, and tried to lift himself out of his chair, pointing at the mirror excitedly.

His nurse looked around. Seeing nothing, she just assumed he was reacting to something his over-stimulated mind had conjured up, and kept wheeling him away.

The figures watched for a time, and then moved on. They had things to do, and better times to remember.

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